


I've Loved

by FrecklesOfTheSeasons



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Angst, Blood, But he's a huge part of this story, Character Death, Corruption, Criminal Jisung, Guns, Han Jisung | Han & Lee Felix are Best Friends, M/M, Minho is only mentioned, Sad Ending, Tragedy, Villain Jisung, Violence, corrupted government, suicide by cop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 09:15:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18891628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrecklesOfTheSeasons/pseuds/FrecklesOfTheSeasons
Summary: Maybe the fountain of youth is death, Jisung thinks. You cannot age when you are dead.





	I've Loved

There's times when Jisung has bitten off more than he can chew. And always, every time, he's gotten out of them, however scathed he might be. Now, as his cloak billows around him, as blood drips from his lips and stains his hands, he knows that this time is not like the others. Still, he won't get on his knees. He'll never beg. 

 

His eyes darken, his jaw clenches, he wipes the blood from his mouth only to smear more across his face. Around him, on near every side, are officers of the highest of police forces, and he finds his lips slipping into something close to a manic grin. He's not crazy, not insane, he knows when he's beaten. 

 

_ “Jisung.”  _

 

_ Minho had smiled at him so brightly, those days. Had brushed his hair back from his forehead and peppered his face with kisses sweet as sugar.  _

 

Jisung's hands clench into bloodied fists. 

 

_ They'd spent the mornings lazing beneath the sheets, blinking in the golden rays of the sun, exchanging small kisses and loving phrases. He remembers the first time they'd said their I love you's.  _

 

He straightens his back. 

 

_ He remembers the days when they'd gathered with their friends and they'd all teased him for his puffy cheeks, his squirrel-like visuals. He wonders where they are now, what they would think if they saw him like this.  _

 

Now, he's overpowered. Surrounded on all sides, his impending doom near. And still, he does not kneel. And still, he does not beg. He's done all that he needs to, in this life. He's planned everything so far. Nothing has ever been a mistake. This is not a mistake. 

 

He's loved and lost, and he'll never gain again. What has he gained at all, from this? Nothing near to satisfaction. For Minho. He's doing this for Minho. 

 

_ “I love you.”  _

 

His lover's voice is so clear, so close, but the memory so far away. It's there, but it's merely a shadow. Jisung has nearly forgotten the sound. He thinks about the laugh he's missed so much over the years. 

 

_ Will I see you again?  _ He wonders.  _ After all of my wrongdoings, will we meet again?  _

 

He hopes, but he will not pray. There is no God. There is no heaven here. He's searched for far too long to find something similar. There's nothing close, nothing near to comfort. He knows, he knows. 

 

Every step he's taken has led him here. The wind blows his hair out of his eyes. They scan the area around him, the guns pointed at him, the sound of sirens and the slick of blood against the ground, and the machine gun clenched in his right fist. 

 

Has all he done been for naught? He stands tall still, though not proud. He's done only everything that needed to be done. The clouds swoop low over the rooftop he stands upon, but it does not rain. The sky has cried enough tears for a lifetime, and it has only been ten years. 

 

Ten years. In that time, Jisung has changed. He's become what he is today. A monster? No. No, he has done the right thing. 

 

_ Will all this make a difference?  _ He thinks. Truly, he does not know. 

 

A thousand words could speak less than the thoughts that race through his mind. It is not enough, nor will it ever be. He does not raise his gun. It stays in his hand, at his side, his finger off the trigger. It's heavy, but he's become equipped to hold something of its weight after the decade he's spent fighting his way through life. 

 

The crowd of officers parts. A familiar face steps into view. His eyes are sad, his blonde hair framing his freckled face, the cap on his head and his bulletproof vest the telling blue of a police chief. 

 

“Jisung.” He says, and Jisung looks into his eyes. “Jisung, what have you done?” 

 

He's not afraid, and he does not feel. He doesn't feel a thing. For months, he was sad, he was angry. But after so many years of hating and hating, he has become only numb, only a shell, a machine doing as bidden. 

 

_ Minho's blood was slick against his skin.  _

 

“You know what I have done,” He says, and his voice his steady. “Just as well as I.” 

 

Felix flinches. 

 

“Why?” He asks. Jisung tilts his head, and his hair is sticky with blood. Is it his? He does not know. There is no one innocent here. 

 

“You were there.” His voice comes out smoothly, not a tremor in sight or sound. “You remember.” He remembers. 

 

_ Remembers the officers holding him back, the sirens, the gun to Minho's head, the sign of the national bank in the background. He remembers his own screams.  _

 

_ “Save him!” He had cried, struggling in his bonds. He watched the criminal smirk, watched the police force do nothing. “What are you waiting for, save him!”  _

 

“It had to be done,” Felix pleads. “It had to, Jisung, it was the only way.” 

 

Jisung is not angry. 

 

“Are you so blinded by your loyalty to this corrupt government,” He asks calmly. “That you would believe such lies?” 

 

Felix's eyes are pleading, sorrowful. 

 

“He was my friend, too.” He says, as if it excuses anything. 

 

“And yet you still believe that it was right.” Jisung's head remains tilted to the side, his grip on the gun lax. “While he was your friend, he was my lover. And I am not so easily swayed by the law as you.” 

 

The wind sweeps through the air and Jisung's cloak catches a forgotten God's breath. 

 

“We watched him die.” He says. “Did you forget? We watched him die.” 

 

And maybe Felix has forgotten, or maybe he's bottled up his guilt until now. 

 

“Jisung,” The blonde whispers, but it's too loud in the silence of the world as it watches, and turns, and watches. “Are you not tired of this?” 

 

Jisung is tired. He has been for years. And yet- 

 

“If I don't do this, who will?” His voice is as solemn as his words, for he knows that when he is gone, the world will keep turning, and society will be rebuilt to shape a new vision of government, a worse one than now. Maybe to spite him, to spit on his grave. Again, he wonders if this was worth it. If everything he's ever done mattered, if he has changed anything at all. 

 

And still, he'd rather go down fighting, because he stands for a cause, a loud one, an echo of a single shout in an empty hallway. The shot of a bullet from a gun in the middle of a city street. A shot that had changed his own life. 

 

Felix stands still. He doesn't reach for his gun, when he should. He steps forward. 

 

“Jisung,” He says, and Jisung wishes he would stop saying his name. “Let's do this the easy way. Stand down.” 

 

Jisung shakes his head, a lazy smile upon his face. The first drops of rain begin to fall. It'll never be enough to wash away the blood on the ground, on his hands, on his face. It'll never be enough to wash away his sins. 

 

“You know I am not one to ever back down.” 

 

_ It had been the perfect day, until it wasn't. Minho had been there, and then he hadn't. He'd watched as his lover was used as bait, and then killed.  _

 

“My end has come.” Jisung says softly. “Old friend, will you be the one to deliver it to me?”

 

He does not doubt Felix's kindness, however blind he may be. He knows the blonde will not shoot him. It is not him that Jisung is counting on, for there is no escape from this, not this time. 

 

_ Minho's lips move, something Jisung will never be able to decipher. _

 

“Don't make me do this,” Felix's voice trembles. “Jisung, don't make me do this.” 

 

Jisung's hand shifts. 

 

“Jisung, what would Minho think if he saw you now?” 

 

What would Minho think? Would he still love him, even after all that Jisung has done? After all the deaths he's caused, after all the blood on his hands? 

 

“That's for me to find out.” He says softly. 

 

_ He sees Minho, hears the shot ring out, followed by another. He can't seem to hear anything after. He breaks free and grabs his lover up in his arms, smoothes down his hair, strokes his face, grips his shirt.  _

 

_ Minho's face is relaxed, his body limp, and it's almost like he's sleeping, almost, if not for the blood in his hair. A dissonant sound of an out of tune piano plays on repeat in his head.  _

 

_ “Minho?” His voice is shaky. “Minho, wake up. Minho, you can't sleep here, we're in public, we- Minho, come on.”  _

 

_ He's beginning to panic.  _

 

_ “Minho,” He shakes his lover in his arms. The boy's head lolls to the side. “No. Nonono, Minho.”  _

 

_ He looks not at the criminal, dead on the floor. He only has eyes for Minho, always has. Minho, whose head is crusted with blood, and whose eyes are glazed over.  _

 

_ “Minho!”  _

 

He grips the gun in his hand tighter. 

 

“You won't do it,” Felix whispers. “You won't kill me. I know you won't kill me.” 

 

Jisung smiles, a real smile this time. He looks carefree, the bags under his eyes and the blood on his face fading away to a younger boy, with squirrel cheeks and bright eyes and an optimistic view of life. Felix can almost pretend he's not the jaded, gaunt, tired man he is now. 

 

“I know.” Jisung murmurs. “But they don't.” 

 

Felix's eyes widen. 

 

_ “Jisung,”  _

 

_ Jisung had never been able to find out what else was said.  _

 

Jisung raises the gun, centimeter by centimeter, into the air. There's a large commotion. 

 

“Drop the weapon, or we'll shoot!” Comes the command, loud and clear. 

 

_ “Jisung,”  _

 

The gun's aim fixes at Felix's head. 

 

“Don't shoot!” Felix yells, panicked, at his officers. “Don't shoot!” 

 

Jisung's finger rests on the trigger. 

 

A moment passes. A moment in which everything flashes before Jisung's eyes. His childhood. His teenage years, the eight friends he'd made and stuck with throughout his life. The fleeting crush that turned into so much more, their first few dates, that indescribable feeling of butterflies he'd get in his stomach. All up until now. He watches himself transform. 

 

A gunshot rings out into the air. 

 

A body falls to the ground. 

 

The skies open, and they cry. Jisung doesn't cry. 

 

No, he slumps onto his knees, eyes soft and smile youthful. He looks years younger than he is. 

 

Maybe the fountain of youth is death, Jisung thinks. You cannot age when you are dead.

 

He lifts a hand to his chest. It comes away smeared with red. Red, that paints this city. Red, that is his own doing. Red, his least favorite color. It became that when it dripped from Minho's head. 

 

He hums a lonely tune and watches his hand stain with his own blood. 

 

Felix rushes forward, pulling Jisung into his arms. 

 

“Jisung,” Felix cries, and Jisung thinks he's been here before. Maybe the roles were reversed, and maybe he's still alive. Maybe he'll get to change someone's mind. “Jisung, stay with me, I'll get you to a hospital-” 

 

Jisung puts a hand against Felix's heart. 

 

“Don't.” He says, and even dying, he's calm. He doesn't fear anything, not even death, anymore. No, he made friends with death a long time ago. Blood bubbles up and out of his lips, and still, he smiles. Smiles like the starstruck boy he used to be, so long ago. 

 

“Why did you do that?” Felix's voice is wobbly, much like his stature, and Jisung's hand falls back down. 

 

“If I am to die,” He says. “At least I am to die with a friend by my side.” 

 

His lips are stained red with blood. His eyes begin to glaze over, he smiles, softly. He feels the wetness of the rain and Felix's tears against his bloodied skin and clothes. Jisung hums a lullaby, one he'd sung several times before in the days before he'd lost. 

 

“Don't go,” He hears Felix beg, and his smile never falters, his eyelids weighed down by the exhaustion of living a life too long. “Don't leave me, Jisung.” 

 

_ “Jisung,”  _

 

The noise around him fades out. Maybe, Jisung thinks, though one thousand words would not do him justice, maybe two thousand and ninety-two will. 

 

_ “Jisung, I love you.” _

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> My twitter is @zinniachild  
> My tumblr is gay-but-woah


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